


The Gift Trap

by kangeiko



Category: Coupling
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Yuletide, Yuletide 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:24:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangeiko/pseuds/kangeiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve tries to avoid falling into the Gift Trap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift Trap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaosmanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosmanor/gifts).



> Many thanks to athena25 and wingsmith for the beta!

**ACT 1: December 19th.**

* * *

****

****

**// Steve, Patrick and Jeff are at the Bar.** //  


"Well, I thought... well. Something nice, I thought. Some lingerie, or, er, something nice."

"Oooh, that's a dangerous road to tread," Jeff warned.

"What road?"

"Patrick knows what I'm talking about," Jeff indicated with his pint glass. "He knows the consequences of buying the wrong present."

Patrick made a face that signified either an abrupt kick up the arse or one in the bollocks. Or possibly both. "Yeah, that one still hurts."

Steve looked from one to the other, bewildered. "What are you talking about? As long as you put a bit of effort into it, well... it's the thought that counts, isn't it?"

"No! No! No no, no it doesn't!"

"He's right," Patrick said glumly. "It doesn't. That sort of thinking leads to bad places, Steve."

"What places? What are you talking about?"

"He doesn't know!" Jeff grinned, gesturing animatedly with the dregs of his beer.

"Know about what?"

Jeff pitched his voice low. "The Gift Trap."

Patrick nodded sagely.

Steve looked from one to the other. "The _what_?"

"The Gift Trap!" Jeff said, growing more excited and gesturing more wildly by the second. "It's when it's your first Christmas together and you've gone off and bought her something - it doesn't matter what, red PVC cat-suit, crotch-less knickers, a dishwasher - and you sit next to her on Christmas day while she's tearing open the presents, wrapping paper flying everywhere, and she opens up your gift and - stops." He set his glass down with a 'thump'. "And she looks at you. And then it comes: The Question -"

"The Question?!"

"Not _that_ question. _This_ question:" Jeff cleared his throat and gestured to Patrick.

"_Honestly,_" Patrick said, outrage dripping from his voice, "_what kind of woman do you think I am_?"

Steve stared. "That doesn't actually happen," he said uncertainly.

Jeff laughed. "I'm getting another round," he said, and patted Steve on the back. "The Gift Trap is very real, and it's been the sticking point for many a post-Christmas nookie."

"It's true," Patrick confirmed. "You have to verrrr-ry careful with women over Christmas, or you lose shagging rights for the remainder of the year."

"So, you think... to avoid the Gift Trap, some kind of big gesture is required." Steve could feel himself growing a little faint at the mere thought of a 'big gesture'. Jewellery? No, too formal. Clothing? Oh, God, what if he got the size wrong? Perfume? No, that was too impersonal, he might as well get her a subscription to _The Times_.

"Well," Patrick said, finishing his pint and looking to the bar to check on Jeff's progress, "it's a simple choice, really. You either have to get her _precisely_ what she wants, or tell her you love her."

Forget 'a little' faint, Steve could feel all the blood rushing away from his brain.

"Or you could always have sex with her," Patrick said thoughtfully after a moment.

Steve stared. "That's not really a big gesture."

Patrick shrugged. "It is from me."

Returning from the bar with a fresh round, Jeff stumbled. A respectable portion of perfectly good beer went flying.

"Oh, Christ, let me take those before there's no beer left."

"I'm not letting you sleep with Susan as her Christmas present, Patrick!"

"Well, I was going to suggest that _you_ sleep with her, but whatever works."

"That's rather cheap, isn't it? I mean, it's supposed to be _her_ gift, giving her sex somehow makes it..."

"Better?" Patrick took a sip from his beer, perfectly serene.

Steve scowled. "Well, I'm not going to hand over the 'l' word without an occasion slightly more special than our first Christmas together, and I seriously doubt that sex is going to be a grand enough gesture, so I'm just going to have to work out what it is that she wants, that's all."

Jeff froze, and suddenly found the back of his chair fascinating.

"_You're_ being very quiet, aren't you?" Steve eventually demanded, rounding on the hapless Jeff.

Jeff froze, his half-empty pint glass midway to his lips. "No," he managed after a moment, and tried to disappear further into the upholstery.

"No? After all that - the Gift Trap, and how awful it's all going to be - _no_?"

Jeff took a sip of his beer; aimed for calm. "Er. No...?" he repeated. Somehow, it came out as a question.

"Yeah, normally the babbling returns the moment you come back from the bar," Patrick said.

Steve raised an eyebrow. "You're hiding something."

"I am not! I am not hiding anything and not even thumbscrews will make me reveal the fact that I work with Susan and am therefore the best person to go undercover as a spy and ferret out all her secret Christmassy fantasies."

Steve looked at Jeff. Jeff looked at his beer.

Patrick gestured expansively. "Or you could make Jeff ask Susan about what she wants in her stocking."

Jeff's mouthful of beer sprayed a very respectable metre and a half at this.

*

"An axe."

// **Jane, Sally and Susan are also at the Bar - but a completely different portion of the Bar, thank you very much.**//

"A _what_?"

"An axe," Sally said, wearing her 'cheerful homicide' expression. "For cutting down trees with."

"Now, I could be wrong, but I thought that in London you could get people to do that sort of thing for you."

"I use my breasts," Jane said helpfully, demonstrating. A fresh round of drinks was promptly delivered to their table.

"You can't in The Countryside. You have to cut down your own trees."

"No," Susan said slowly, "I'm reasonably sure that you can get people to do that sort of thing for you there, too. Besides, I'm sure that you're not expected to cut down your own tree. Your brother can do that. Or your dad. In a dadly fashion."

"A _dad-ly fashion_?" Jane enquired.

Susan mimed putting up shelves. "You know. Like manly, but actually competent. And the shelves stay up."

"Well, my father is completely devoid of any fashion, manly, dadly or otherwise."

Susan crossed her arms. "Sally, I refuse to believe that the reason you don't want to see your parents this Christmas is because of your dad's lack of dress sense."

"Well, the rest of my family isn't much better!" Sally declared. "There's my mother, who insists on giving me hand-knitted sweaters that I then have to use as insulation materials and lie about accidentally 'losing', and my brother, who wants to shag all my friends, and, of course, my younger sister."

"What's wrong with her?"

"She's _younger._" Sally said emphatically, and finished her cocktail in one long gulp.

"You think _you_ have it bad, I have three sisters and one brother to see over Christmas, how am I going to cope with that?"

Susan raised an eyebrow. "Is that true, Jane?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you actually have four siblings?"

"Why wouldn't I? Are you implying I'm lying?"

*

"Not really implying," Steve clarified, "so much as saying it outright."

// **The boys, in their corner of the Bar.** //

"But it's bad enough having to do this when it's my _own_ girlfriend, why do I have to do it when it's someone else's?"

"Jeff, when was the last time you had a girlfriend over Christmas?"

"Well -"

"_Never_. You have _never_ had a girlfriend over Christmas."

"That's not true! There was Emma." Jeff's expression grew dreamy. "We were into bondage..."

Steve folded his arms. "You were _seven_."

"She was precocious!"

"And it was the three-legged race."

"Yeah, well - it still counts!"

"No, it doesn't Jeff. It in no way counts to excuse you from asking Susan in a nice, polite, non-awkward, non-mental, non... well, _Jeff_ way, what she might like from her love-rich but slightly cash-poor boyfriend -"

Jeff's expression changed from 'concerned' to 'confused'.

Steve sighed. "_Me,_ Jeff. But she can't know it's me asking."

*

"Well, _that's_ not very difficult, is it?"

  
// **The girls, still at the - oh, you get the idea.**//

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Sally sipped from her ~~third fourth~~ fifth cocktail. "It doesn't precisely scream 'devotion' from the rooftops, does it?"

"You could invite a friend," Jane suggested. She slid her foot along Susan's denim-covered leg. "I'm sure that he would enjoy that a great deal..."

"Yeah," Sally said into her drink, "nothing says 'I love you' like sex with another woman."

Susan slid her leg away. "Thanks, Jane, but I'm sure that Steve and I can manage on our own."

"Anyway, do you know what _he's_ getting you?"

"No clue." Susan signalled for more drinks. What the hell; it's Christmas. "I'm sure that it'll be lovely, whatever it is."

Sally and Jane exchanged A Look over their drinks.

"What?"

* * *

**ACT 2: December 20th  
**

* * *

// Jeff and Susan are at the office. //

"Hi, Jeff."

Jeff dropped his papers. "Susan! Susan, hi, Susan. Fancy seeing you here!"

"Jeff, we're in my office."

"Yes. Yes! Of course we are. We're _in your office_."

_Oh, God,_ Susan thought. "That's right. In my office. Any particular reason for that?"

"Well," Jeff said, picking up three bits of paper and dropping six, "I'd imagine that you work here. I mean, there are your manuals, and your pencils, and protractors -"

"I don't have protractors, Jeff."

"Well, these, these -" he gestured expansively at her desk, obviously searching for something, and settled on brandishing her lunchtime cutlery, "they're pointy and have stabby bits!"

"OK. I see that I phrased that badly. Let's try again - any reason that _you_ are in my office?"

"No reason! Er."

"Yes?"

"I was just wondering - in a hypothetical, completely unrelated to anything sort of way - what you might possibly want for a holiday that might or might not be coming up.

"Steve wants you to find out what I want for Christmas," she translated.

Jeff looked panicked. "No! No no no, it's nothing to do with Steve, it's just that - I have a girlfriend!"

"A girlfriend."

"Yes."

"A _real_ girlfriend, Jeff?"

"Yes! Why does everyone ask that?"

"A non-inflatable one?"

"That was just the once! It's a real girlfriend, one that I will have during Christmas, and she requires a present, and I thought that you might know what sort of thing she'd want, seeing as how you're, you know. A girl."

"All right, well... what does she like?"

"... like?"

"You know. Her hobbies? Interests? Likes and dislikes?"

"Er." Jeff cast his eyes about the room. "Accounting!"

"She likes accounting," Susan repeated slowly. "Are you _sure_?"

"Oh, yeah, mad about it, she is."

"What about it does she like, precisely?"

"What... part?"

"Yes. What part?" Susan folded her arms expectantly.

Jeff twitched. "The adding up - all them numbers, they make her hot."

"Adding up," Susan repeated.

"Yeah! And, um, subtracting too. We balance our chequebooks in bed, it drives her wild."

"Got it," Susan said quickly, and help up a hand to stop whatever else Jeff might have felt like sharing. "All right, accountancy. Does she like anything else?"

"Anything else?"

"Anything other than accountancy, Jeff."

"Erm," he fixed on the slab of glossy Lindt tucked away by the accounting manuals, "chocolate."

"She likes accountancy and chocolate," Susan said slowly, giving Jeff time to jump in and correct her.

Jeff nodded eagerly and tried to keep the smile fixed firmly on his face.

"Well, okay, erm..." Accountancy, she thought, a little flummoxed. Accountancy? "Well, you could get her an old-fashioned abacus, or something similar - a maths toy that would look pretty on her desk - and - and - one of those giant Toblerones -"

"Right," Jeff nodded, backing away quickly. "Right..."

He was halfway out the door before she remembered the most important thing. "And Jeff - don't worry about it so much. It's Christmas. The important thing is to make her feel like you're drawing closer, becoming more intimate. The actual gift doesn't matter as much as how you give it to her."

"OK," Jeff said, rapidly backing away. "That's great, thanks!"

"Oh, and Jeff? Why don't you bring her to Steve's for the Post-Christmas Dinner dinner? It'd be good to meet her."

The papers went flying again.

* * *

**ACT 3: December 20th**

****

* * *

// Jeff, in his office. //  


"Steve, can you hear me? I got the goods, man! I totally got the goods! What? No, the _goods_, I said. Hello? Can you hear me? I can't speak louder, people will hear. You need to give her an abacus, or some sort of maths toy. A TOY, Steve. And some Toblerone - no, a TobleRONE. The ridged chocolate. The RIDGED chocolate. The bigger the better. The LARGEST ONE THERE. And when you have to give it to her - Steve? You're supposed to do it with intimacy and closeness. INTIMATE CLOSENESS, Steve. Steve? Hello?"

*

// **Steve, at the department store.** //

"Hi Jeff, I'm in the store. Did you find out what she wants?"

"Steve ... ear me? I ... goods, man!"

"Jeff? I can't hear you. Can you speak up?"

"What?"

"Jeff? I can't hear you!"

"The ..._oods_, ... said. ...ear me?"

"Jeff? I can't hear you, speak up!"

"Can't spe... ...der, people will ... me. You need to ...her a ...ths toy."

"What?"

"A TOY ...eve. And ... rone..."

"A toy phone?"

"No, a ...one, the ridged ...ate."

"WHAT?"

"... RIDGED...ate. The bigger..."

"Let me repeat - WHAT?"

"... LARGEST ONE..."

"Oh my God."

"When ... give it to her, Steve..."

"Stop talking, Jeff."

"Inti... closeness."

"STOP TALKING, JEFF."

"INTIMATE CLOSENESS, Steve."

*beep*

"Steve? ... llo?"

Steve turned to the shop assistant. "I beg your pardon," he said slowly, "I'm looking for something intimate."

"Intimate?"

"And ridged."

*

// **Susan, in her office.** //  


"Well, I don't know, really. He seemed very anxious." She prodded her cuticles with an orange stick and stared at them critically.

"Yes, but that's normal Jeff speak," Sally said, her voice tinny over the phone. "So, you really think it's for an actual girlfriend?"

"I don't know. He insists that she's real, and he's supposed to be bringing her to the post-Christmas Dinner dinner. He seemed petrified to be even bringing up the subject, to be honest, so I don't think that he'd be doing it solely for Steve's benefit. And even if he did, I mean..."

"It's the thought that counts," Sally prompted.

"Exactly."

"Oh, that's such bollocks."

"Sally!"

"Wait until Steve turns up with something distinctly unlike jewellery, and then we'll see who's outraged."

"It's not going to be that bad," Susan said soothingly.

* * *

  
**ACT 4: December 25th  
**

* * *

// Susan and Steve, in Steve's flat, during the traditional gift exchange. //

"Well, it's ... nice."

"You don't like it?"

"I didn't say that! It's... nice. Very... big."

"And ridged," Steve said, helpfully.

*

// **The equally traditional post-Christmas Dinner dinner, wherein everyone is at Steve's, but Susan has, in fact, done all of the cooking. Jeff and his date are noticeably late.** //

"I just don't see why I need to visit them, that's all."

"But they're your family, Jane," Susan attempted.

"Exactly, I've had thir- er, twenty-seven years of them. Shouldn't someone else benefit?"

"You're all heart, Jane."

Jane stuck her breasts out a little further. "Especially at Christmas. Anyway, it's supposed to be a _Christmas_ visit, and I won't get there until Boxing Day."

"It's true," Sally waved her fork. "The Day After invalidates all Christmas cheer, and you're stuck in a wooden shack in the middle of nowhere."

Susan chocked on her wine. "Sally, your parents live in a mansion in Windsor. I'd hardly call that a shack in the middle of nowhere."

"It might as well be," Sally muttered vengefully. "They have _dogs_, Susan. Dogs!"

"Corgis," Susan translated for the rest of the group.

The men nodded sagely. "My parents have hunting hounds," Patrick offered. "And they're thinking of buying a place in Windsor. Hey, our folks might end up as neighbours!"

There was a long, frozen moment, and then Sally made a high-pitched whine and grabbed for her glass of wine.

"Sally? You okay?" Steve asked, slightly concerned as she looked to be on the edge of asphyxia.

Sally waved a hand and gulped her wine, making little chocking noises all the while.

Susan patted her on the back. "She's OK. She's just worried that her parents are de facto Tories."

The high-pitched noises increased in tempo.

"Oh, who cares about fat Tories?" Jane said airily. "No one has asked me about my new man!"

"You have a new man?" Susan asked placatingly, whilst patting Sally's back. There were times when she felt worryingly like their mother - de facto torydom and corgis notwithstanding.

Sally made a squeaky noise of interest.

"Oh, yes. He turned up on my doorstep last night and begged me to go out with him over Christmas. He was obviously madly in love with me, the poor dear." She leaned back, jutting her chest out proudly. "I do hope he gets here soon. My boobs look great today."

Sally looked them over appraisingly. "Best breast forward, I see."

"So," Steve said hurriedly, "did everyone get what they wanted for Christmas?"

"I got sex," Patrick supplied helpfully.

"So did I -" Jane shrugged.

Steve grinned nervously. "Well, I wasn't really asking for _specifics_ -"

"- And a thong."

There was a momentary pause while Steve seemed to have forgotten whatever it was he was saying. "Um. No details, I meant. Just a general - I got what I wanted, it was great, move on to it being _not_ Christmas..."

"_I_ didn't," Susan said. She looked around the rest of the room, almost regal. "Not really."

Steve gaped. "But -"

"What was wrong with it?" Sally wanted to know, smirk half-formed. "Was it really that bad?"

Susan looked almost regretful. "I'm sorry, Steve, but I most definitely was _not_ hoping for... you know."

Steve's mouth was hanging open. "What?! But you told Jeff - he said -"

"Jeff?" Susan leaned back in her chair; crossed her arms. "So it _was_ you."

The others watched with avid interest.

"What?"

"You didn't ask me yourself. You didn't make an effort to work out what I would have liked. You got _Jeff_ to ask me what I wanted for Christmas." Her voice was flat; no histrionics. The gravity of the crime alone was enough to condemn him.

Steve cast about for rescue. None seemed forthcoming. "Is that... bad?"

"You asked _Jeff_. Well, that makes things a lot clearer."

There was a pause, while everyone turned to look at Steve, bad present-chooser extraordinaire. He did not disappoint.

"Well, who else was I supposed to ask?" Steve exploded. "I'm not allowed to ask _you_, because then I'm _Crap Boyfriend (tm)_, who doesn't take the time to work out your secret Christmas fantasy, even though you haven't exactly been dropping hints! And so I end up in the Gift Trap, no perfect big gesture, no 'l' word declaration and no sex because it's not as big a gesture as it would be if it came from Patrick!"

Patrick raised his hand in a half-wave.

Steve wasn't done. "But I'm not allowed to get anyone else to ask for me, because then it's somehow worse. How? How is it worse to get you something you'd like instead of something that _I_ think you'd like, but is instead completely unsuitable? And why, I ask you? Why do men consistently end up in the Gift Trap after paying a significant amount of attention? You buy underwear, and some of it's red! I've seen it! What's wrong with buying you red underwear for Christmas? Nothing that I can work out, but you do it once and suddenly you're _Sexist Pig (tm)_, who wants his girlfriend to dress like a whore. You go for something neutral, and get a blender - and suddenly you're _Fifties Husband (tm)_, and you want her to be barefoot in the kitchen. You buy her something you think you'll both enjoy, like tickets to the Grand Prix, and you're _Selfish Bastard (tm)_, because you're only thinking about yourself. But don't you dare buy her beauty products, because then you're _Insensitive Git (tm)_, and are implying that she needs them! And if you go for the old standby of perfume - oooh, watch out! You're _You Can't Be Bothered, Soon To Be Dumped Idiot (tm)_, who went for the nearest safe option and still managed to get it wrong. It's Chanel No. 4 she wears, not No. 5, and so you are clearly inadequate! I mean - I knew that already, I don't need tantrums over perfume to remind me! And do you think that it was easy for me this year?" He marched over to the dresser; started yanking the drawers open. "Do you think it was easy for me to march over to Ann Summers and ask for their largest and lumpiest vibrator? Do you think it was easy for me to gift-wrap _this_?" He brandished the purple monstrosity, out of breath and panting. It swayed slightly in his grip.

"That's - not a Toblerone."

Everyone turned to the hallway, where Jeff stood, carrying some flowers that had seen better days and wearing a confused expression.

"... what?" Steve managed.

"Oh, are those for me?" Jane bounced over happily, collected the flowers and gave Jeff a kiss on the cheek that he tried very hard to dodge. "They're beautiful. You must be terribly in love with me."

"Jeff?" Sally had found her voice, staring at Jane. "_Jeff_ is your date?"

"_Jane_ is your Christmas girlfriend?" Susan demanded, turning to Jane, currently running her fingers up and down Jeff's arm.

"Jane is your Christmas _girlfriend_?" Patrick asked, raising an eyebrow and his glass.

"_Toblerone?!_" Steve asked, turning an alarming shade of red. There was an odd sort of twitch to his face, as if he was trying to decide whether to burst out laughing or expire on the spot.

"You didn't get her an abacus?" Jeff asked, confused.

"Wait a minute," Susan said slowly. "You were trying to get me the perfect present... and you thought that _that thing_," she narrowed her eyes at the mass of purple ridges and various speeds and settings, "was what I've always wanted?" There was a long, ominous pause. "_Honestly,_ Steve. What kind of woman do you think I am, anyway?"

*

fin!


End file.
